Darcy settled next to Nash on the sofa and focused on the game. She was an ardent Red Sox fan, and she adored the sportscaster Jerry Remy, who had the most contagious laugh. She sensed Nash relaxing as he ate and watched the game, and she decided that television had probably saved more than one relationship. It was like putting a child in time-out, or having a buffer guest at a dinner party. The tension eased. Nash had a second heaping helping of the mac and cheese. They watched the game to its end—the Red Sox won—and Darcy brought in bowls of ice cream for them both.
As the last of her ice cream melted in her mouth, Darcy wondered if Nash had gotten over his sulk.
“Do you want more ice cream?” she asked.
“No,” Nash said. He put his bowl on the table and turned to her. “Now I want this.”
He took her in his arms and kissed her. His towel fell off. She wriggled out of her clothes without ending the kiss. They slid down onto the couch together, and although the TV continued with the after-game show, they didn’t even notice.
—
Often a Nantucket summer was blessed—or cursed—by a week of rain, fog, and wind. Darcy felt oddly guilty when this happened, because it ruined so many holiday plans, especially for those who had rented a house on the island for only a week. It didn’t bother her—she liked the rain a lot, the fragrances it brought out from the garden, the soothing sound of it against her bedroom window, and the pleasure she took in offering story times to children who couldn’t go to the beach.
By Thursday, she realized that the Brueckner boys had been to story time every day that week. At first, they sat politely, but when they showed up on Thursday, they’d obviously exceeded their ability to be still and listen. While Darcy perched at the front of the room on a chair that allowed her to show the book’s pictures to all the children—and to see what all the children were doing—she noticed George pinching Alfred, and Alfred, the youngest and weakest, wriggling away from his brother, accidentally bumping into children next to him and causing them to snarl at the boy. Susan, settled on the floor at the back with the other mothers, was aware that her sons were misbehaving. She looked miserable. Outside, the rain sheeted down, pattering against the windows, turning the lawn into a soggy stretch of mud.
“Alfred,” Darcy said. “Would you do me a favor?” She saw the alarm in Susan’s eyes. “Would you come up here and turn the pages for me? It’s really hard for me to hold the book and turn the pages.”
Alfred’s eyes widened. Braced for a scolding, he had to take a moment to understand her invitation. Then he jumped to his feet and almost ran to join Darcy. She continued to read, pausing to whisper to Alfred, “Please turn now.” By the end of the book, Alfred was smug and his brothers approached him with something like admiration.
Afterward, the children and their mothers streamed out the door. Susan approached Darcy. “That was so nice. Thank you, Darcy. Alfred, you did such a good job!”
Susan looked terrible, Darcy thought. Her eyes were puffy and her posture spoke of a woman who was struggling simply to stand. As the room emptied out, the two older boys, Henry and George, started shoving each other and calling each other names.
“It’s this rain,” Susan said, seeming entirely defeated. “They aren’t constitutionally built to be quiet.”
“Take them to the beach anyway,” Darcy suggested. “It’s warm out, they’ll get wet swimming. Or take them to the Life Saving Museum.”
Susan nearly sank to her knees. “Oh, thank you. I was running out of ideas….”
“Look,” Darcy said, “The Dreamland’s rerunning Cinderella tonight. I’m going with a couple of friends. In fact, it’s Mimi, who lives to my right, and Willow, who lives behind me. It’s supposed to be a gorgeous movie, with Cate Blanchett as the wicked stepmother. Come with us.”
“Oh, thank you, but I couldn’t leave the boys.”
“Won’t your husband be there?”
“Yes, but—” Susan bit her lip. “He’s not very good at handling them all by himself.”
“Have him bring the boys to the movie.”
“But Cinderella is so girly—”
“It’s got mice and horses and magic,” Darcy reminded her.
“Well, I suppose I could bring them.”
“No. Have your husband bring them. You absolutely have to come with us. We’ll have a girls night out, maybe go for a drink afterward.”
Susan stared, dumbfounded, as if such an activity had never reached even the outer limits of her mind before.